Blood Ties
by Maddie
Summary: "I must insist the missing two months be paid in full by the end of next week." The bank had given Ethan one week to pay 300 he owed in back rent. If not he would loose the ranch and the children would loose their home. But was the threat more insidious than that? Set second season. Ethan, Amelia, Children OC's
1. Chapter 1

**Blood Ties**

"Uncle Ethan p…promised." Ben wrestled a heavy flour sack out of the back of the wagon to make room for the keg of nails Joseph loaded in its place.

"Uncle Ethan's promised before," Joseph replied, mocking his younger brother's tone. He stopped to wipe the sweat from his forehead. The morning had turned unseasonably hot as the Indian summer sun beat down on the dusty streets of Paradise. The autumn gold leaves contrasted with the sultry heat, and Joseph, who was uncomfortably overdressed, was getting short tempered.

"B…but, this time he said for sure." Ben persisted, dropping the flour at Joseph's feet. A powdery cloud billowed up from the cloth sack, dusting the front of Ben's shirt with a fine layer of white.

"Just because Uncle Ethan says it's going to happen doesn't mean it will. You should know that by now. He made the same promise last month." Joseph lifted the sack of flour, dumping it in the back of the buckboard. "But this time he will." Ben refused to be swayed by Joseph's pessimism and his brown eyes sparkled with anticipation.

"Yeah. Well, we'll see." Equally stubborn, Joseph could not believe in his Uncle's reliability with the same adoring innocence that Ben did. He'd seen things go wrong too often to believe this time would be any different. Something else, more important, would require Uncle Ethan's attention. Something always did.

Claire emerged from Mr. Lee's store with a bundle of folded clothing in her arms. "Ben, where's George?"

Ben scuffed his foot along the boards of the top step and spoke slowly, "He went down to the bank to wait for Uncle Ethan."

Bending over, Claire dusted the loose flour from the front of Ben's coat. "Mr. Lee has some clothing Toy and Min have outgrown. He said you and George could have whatever fit. So go find him and come right back here, please."

"Yes." Ben hung his head and walked down the street, kicking aimlessly at unseen pebbles.

Claire watched Ben's slow progress. He looked so forlorn in his oversized, hand-me-down coat and over-patched trousers. Brushing a stray lock of fine blonde hair from her eyes, she looked expectantly at Joseph. "What's bothering him? I thought he was excited about the trip to Carson City."

"What do you think?" Joseph found it hard to meet his sister's steady gaze. Suddenly, he felt guilty for speaking so sharply to Ben. "They were supposed to make that trip as soon as we got caught up with the rent and work. You know as well as I do we'll never get caught up and they'll never get to go."

"And I suppose you made sure to tell him that," Claire said angrily, glaring at Joseph, her lips drawn into a straight, thin line. That look, and her adult manner, angered Joseph. She was only a year older than he was, but had assumed the role of parent and authority.

"Look, Claire, what's the sense in pretending? Ben will only get hurt."

"It doesn't hurt to dream."

"Yeah, and you're starting to sound just like Mama." Joseph turned his back on his sister. Dreaming can be bad, he thought, when there really isn't any hope. He busied himself re-arranging the load on the back of the wagon, shifting the sacks which did not need to be shifted, until he felt his sister's eyes leave his back. He heard her turn and go back into Mr. Lee's store. Ben idolized Uncle Ethan, and Joseph knew it was wrong. Uncle Ethan meant well, but he wasn't dependable, not by Joseph's way of thinking and Ben would continue to get hurt until he learned that

~0~0~0~

"C…C'mon, George," Ben said, "Now." Ben tugged at his brother's sleeve. George was much more interested in the intriguing array of hunting knives Mr. Axelrod was arranging in his store window. Burnished steel blades glinting in the sun and carved bone handles rubbed to a satiny gleam seemed fairer than all the gold in the Paradise Mine, and Ben had to admit, he would like to have one. He paused for a minute, staring at the display with open admiration.

"Don't dawdle in front of my store if you aren't buying. You'll get in the way of those who do."

Ben looked up into the ever sour face of Cyrus Axelrod and gave George's sleeve one last sharp tug. "C'mon," he said urgently. Together the two boys bolted down the street. Mr. Axelrod gave Ben the willies. He always had, and it had been worse since Ben had overheard the plans Axelrod and Mr. Dodd had made to burn down the hotel when Mrs. Lawson, Claire and George had been held captive there. They'd tied Ben up to keep him from warning Uncle Ethan, and though he hadn't been harmed, Ben held a secret fear of Mr. Axelrod since then. George was far less intimidated by Axelrod's harsh demeanor, but then, George hadn't been tied up either.

Turning one last time to make certain Mr. Axelrod wasn't following them, Ben charged blindly down the street. He just registered George's warning to watch where he was going when he blundered full tilt into a pair of black clad legs. Stunned by the sudden collision, Ben sat down abruptly and somewhat painfully in the dust and found himself staring up at a complete stranger.

Dressed from hat to boots in black, the stranger's clothes were richly tailored, far out of step with the average citizen of Paradise. The only person Ben had ever seen dressed as well had been Mr. Lawson. Ben's eyes travelled slowly from the stranger's knees to the top of his well-groomed head. He swallowed hard. The man's stern features were framed in a thick shock of snow white hair, and a strong smell of tobacco clung to his clothing, adding an earthy touch to his otherwise immaculate appearance. The man's mobile, white eyebrows drew together in a scowl.

"So, young man," he said coldly, "what have you to say for yourself?"

~0~0~0~

"Paid in full for another month." Ethan placed the rent money on the counter in front of Henderson's teller. Mildred looked from the money to Ethan, then sniffed with disdainful doubt. Ethan was getting a little tired of the way she looked down her prim nose at him. He wasn't sure whether he disliked her because she worked for Henderson, or simply because of her better-than-thou attitude. Margaret, Amelia's ever-curious teller, had shown him as much disdain, but he had always found her amusing. "It's all there," Ethan added as Mildred began counting.

"It is still my duty to check, Mr. Cord." Mildred pursed her lips and nodded her grey head at him like a school marm correcting an errant pupil. The odor of lavender clung heavily to her clothing and she continued to count the bills with exaggerated slowness.

"Ain't arguin' with your job," Ethan mumbled under his breath as he waited impatiently for his receipt. He was supposed to ride to Carson City to check on a new herd bull to replace the one they'd lost during the summer. Although his knowledge of horses was excellent, he wasn't all that familiar with the good points of cattle. John Taylor had agreed to accompany him to provide whatever knowledge he could, and since Ethan couldn't think of any more excuses to delay the trip, he had promised to leave today and take the boys with him. They were looking forward to the outing and he wanted to get started before noon.

"Well," Mildred said reluctantly, "everything seems to be in order." She reached for her pen, dipped in into the inkwell and began to write his receipt in her meticulously spidery script.

"Thank you, Miss Mildred," Ethan said with a polite flourish as he reached for the slip of paper. He was rewarded by the crimson flush that crept up Mildred's neck and flooded her cheeks with color.

As Ethan turned to leave, Henderson emerged from his office. "Mr. Cord, would you please step into my office. We have some business to discuss."

"The rent's paid, Henderson. We don't have anything to discuss 'til next month."

"I'm afraid you are wrong, Mr. Cord." Henderson stood aside, waiting for Ethan to pass. Ethan glanced suspiciously from Henderson to Mildred, who busied herself with a stack of receipts on her counter. She could not quite hide her smile as Ethan passed by her and into Henderson's office.

~0~0~0~

"Claire! Claire!" George careened into Mr. Lee's store and nearly knocked his sister over in his haste. "You won't believe it."

"Believe what? Slow down, George, and tell me what's going on. And where's Ben? He was supposed to find you." Claire took her youngest brother by the shoulders and held him, though he wiggled with excitement and his bright blue eyes were shining. Just then, Ben burst through the doorway. He was covered with dust and his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, but his eyes were as bright as George's.

"What's-going on?" Claire demanded. "Have you gotten into trouble?

"N…n…," Ben began.

"No." George finished his brother's sentence as he frequently did, filling in the words Ben stumbled over.

"Okay," Claire said, sitting both boys down on a sack of grain. "You'd better tell me what's going on."

George and Ben squirmed and exchanged glances. "We were in front of Mr. Axelrod's store-" George started.

"I knew it," Claire interrupted. She stood with her arms folded looking sternly at her brothers. "Haven't we had enough trouble with Mr. Axelrod?"

"Nothing happened," the boys said in unison.

"We were just looking at the knives in the window," Ben said carefully. "Mr. Axelrod told us to get m…m…"

"Moving," George said, looking sideways at Ben as he did.

"He s…s…scared me, and we started to run," Ben went on.

"He wasn't watching where he was going, and he ran into the man." George was quick to point out who had done the running in to.

Claire looked from one to the other, waiting for them to continue. She didn't want to have to report to Uncle Ethan that there was anything amiss. "Ran into who?" she asked at last when it became obvious the boys weren't going to continue.

"We…d…d…"

"Don't know," said George. "He was a stranger. All dressed in black with lots of white hair."

"And a gold chain on his vest," Ben blurted out.

"Ben knocked into him when he was running real fast."

"Did you knock him down?" Claire asked.

"N…no," Ben said. "He…he…knocked me down,"

"But he's not hurt," George added. The boys glanced at each other. "We thought he'd be mad, but he wasn't. And he gave us these." Both boys held out a hand and in each sweaty palm lay a shining new quarter.

"He said we could spend it however we liked." George finished the tale and began to grin from ear to ear. Claire could imagine what he was thinking, perhaps dreaming of a shining new pocket knife.

"Boys, you can't just take money from a stranger on the street. We're not beggars and we don't need charity. You should give the money back."

"B…but, Claire, he knew our names," Ben said pleadingly. "So he isn't a stranger, is he?"

"How did he know your names?"

Ben and George both shrugged silently.

"Can you point him out to me? Is he still on the street?"

The boys ran to the front window of the hardware store, pressed their noses against the glass and looked up and down the street. Ben finally nudged George and pointed. 'There he is, Claire. In front of the b…b…"

"Bank," George said.

Claire stepped out onto the boardwalk. It was difficult to see clearly because the brim of the man's hat shadowed his face in the noonday sun, but Claire felt her heart lurch. It wasn't possible. It was so long ago, but the man looked hauntingly familiar, and the familiarity gave Claire a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

~0~0~0~

"As you know, it is customary in transactions such as the sale of this bank, to audit the bank's books and re-evaluate loans and mortgages." Henderson shifted his weight so that he sat rigidly in his chair. Flicking an imaginary speck of dust from his lapel, he avoided looking at Ethan. Instead, he thumbed the papers that lay before him.

"Didn't know." Ethan found it difficult to keep from gritting his teeth. Henderson did not bring out the best in him, and he had to struggle to remain civil to the man.

"Well, it is," Henderson continued, nonplussed by Ethan's obvious dislike.

Ethan sat in the same chair he had occupied when he had first negotiated his loan with Amelia, only this time the scenery was a lot less interesting. The office had changed very little from the polished hardwood floor to the massive oak desk, it was much as Amelia had kept it, except it lacked the warmth of her presence. "What exactly does re-evaluate' mean?" As usual, Ethan found himself on the defensive when he dealt with the new banker. Maybe, it was the man's bloated self-image or the underhanded way he had bought the bank from Amelia's husband. Something told Ethan, Henderson was not to be trusted.

"In going over your loan agreement, I've found that the first two monthly payments were deferred in order to give you time to establish ranching operations."

"Takes more than two months to establish that," Ethan said softly under his breath.

Henderson continued as though there had been no interruption, looking up from his papers at last to stare critically at Ethan. Ethan wondered how the man could look at him so directly, but avoid ever looking him straight in the eye. "Under the agreement, you were to pay the two deferred payments at the end of the first year. But," Henderson added quickly, "our records indicate that has not been done."

"And?"

"And, I must insist the missing two months be paid in full by the end of next week, which marks the end of the one year period." Henderson finished then sat braced as if expecting an outburst.

"What?" Ethan half rose out of his seat. He had the over powering desire to wipe the smug look from Henderson's face. "Half the ranchers in Paradise probably got the same deal. We always had an understanding with the bank."

"Yes, apparently it was a custom of Mrs. Lawson's to extend such credit, but Mrs. Lawson no longer runs this bank, and it is my policy to collect what is due."

"And if I don't pay up by the end of next week?" Unconsciously, Ethan's hand sought the cold comfort of the gun at his side.

"I'm afraid I will have to foreclose. Your property and any cattle will be auctioned to cover the debt." Henderson had not missed the movement of Ethan's right hand. His eyes widened and he swallowed hard.

"You can't evict every rancher in Paradise." Ethan's voice was low.

"I have yet to evaluate the other ranchers, Mr. Cord," Henderson continued with renewed boldness, puffing out his chest like a proud peacock. "Your profession, such as it is, is unstable at best. Your income is erratic. Your demise could be imminent and untimely, leaving me with an unpaid debt and no way of collecting it."

"There wasn't anything wrong with my profession when you needed a sheriff to handle Johnny Ryan," Ethan reminded him.

Henderson deftly ignored that statement. "As I said, your income is erratic and your chances of survival questionable."

Ethan stood, glaring down at Henderson's portly figure as the banker nervously fingered the papers in front of him. "I'll have the money before the end of next week."

As he turned to leave, Henderson found the courage to inject one final barb to the insult he'd already inflicted. "I've heard of your skill at poker, Mr. Cord. I do not believe it is a dependable source of income."

~0~0~0~

"How did he react?" The stranger lit a long cigar and puffed its rank odor into the air. Henderson sniffed. He had never adopted the tobacco habit, and he found the foul odor offensive, but he did not ask the man to extinguish his cigar. If he offended the stranger, he might lose the money the man offered.

"How do you expect? He was angry. From what I've heard, that is how he usually reacts to unpleasant news. With his fists, or his gun. I'm lucky I wasn't the recipient of the business end of either one. Though for a moment, I had my doubts."

"And will he be able to pay?" The man blew smoke rings into the already cloudy air.

Henderson coughed. "I don't know. If he doesn't, we can evict them. Without property, or a home, or a means of income, he can't provide for his sister's children. I've done as you asked. There isn't anything else I can legally do. The rest is up to you."

The stranger nodded, then stood and extended his hand to the banker. "Thank you, Mr. Henderson. A check will be delivered to you as soon as they are off the ranch. I appreciate your assistance."

~0~0~0~


	2. Chapter 2

Henderson stood as the man left the bank. No sooner was the stranger outside than Mildred stepped meekly into the banker's office.

"I suppose you heard it all, Mildred?" Henderson demanded gruffly.

Mildred blushed.

"Someday, your intense interest in local gossip is going to be your undoing."

"Yes, sir." Mildred placed a stack of papers on Henderson's desk before she continued with unusual boldness. "Mr. Henderson, I realize Mr. Cord is not well liked in this community…"

"The town of Paradise is growing," Henderson interrupted, putting the proper amount of contempt into his voice. "It will be better off without men like Ethan Cord."

"True," Mildred agreed meekly. "But it is also my understanding he has provided a home for his niece and nephews. What would happen to the children if you served an eviction notice?" Mildred took a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and wiped delicately at her nose.

"I would assume they would be fostered out to other families. They certainly can't live on the road with a gunfighter. Now, Mildred, I believe you have customers." He abruptly dismissed her with a wave of his hand and seated himself behind his desk once again. It was harder to dismiss the subject of the Carroll children. Despite what the locals thought of their uncle, Henderson found the children to be polite and well-educated. But, he thought resolutely, that was none of his concern.

~000~

"I told you this would happen," Joseph said morosely as he carefully set the milk pail on the sink. He reached for a clean milk pan and strained the warm, frothy milk into it.

"We all know that, Joseph," Claire responded, vigorously sweeping the floor even though it did not need to be swept. "You don't have to keep reminding us. Ben feels bad enough. And it isn't Uncle Ethan's fault."

"It never is. And you always defend him."

"Someone has to." Claire stopped sweeping and stood, holding tightly to the broom. "Joseph, you're always so negative. It makes it harder for the rest of us. We're all trying. Why can't you?"

"What good does trying do?" Joseph said hotly, slamming the strainer into the dry sink. "It just gets us more broken promises. Uncle Ethan promised to take Ben and George to Carson City and now they're not going. He promised the rent would be paid up and it's not."

"That's not Uncle Ethan's fault. And what is he supposed to do? Go off to Carson City like he planned and forget about what we owe? If he doesn't take this job with the mine we're going to lose the ranch. Can't you see that?" Claire's voice had risen and her face was pinched with anxiety. She was worried and Joseph made her so angry when he started criticizing their uncle.

"Maybe it would be best if we _did_ lose the ranch." Joseph grabbed the empty milk pail and stormed from the cabin.

Claire started to follow, but stopped in her tracks when she heard Ben's muffled sobbing from the other room. She wanted to follow Joseph and give him a piece of her mind, but Ben needed her. She would have to talk to Joseph later. She knew, although Joseph wouldn't admit it, not even to himself, he did care what happened to Uncle Ethan. And when things did not go as planned he was hurt as much as Ben was.

~000~

Amelia drew her palomino to a halt in front of the cabin's hitching rail where Ethan was fitting his horse for travel. It was dusk and in the waning light she sat quietly watching him work. She knew him well enough to recognize the frustration and anger his sharply controlled movements were hiding. Normally, when work took him away from the drudgery of the ranch, he was happy and it showed in the fluid grace of his actions, but not tonight.

"I suppose you've heard what happened?" he asked, tightening the saddle girth with an efficient tug.

"Margaret told me. Mildred has a hard time keeping anything to herself. She couldn't wait to tell Margaret. What are you going to do?" Amelia's horse pranced impatiently as she spoke.

"What I always do. James Morris, out at the Pacific Sierra Mine asked me to ride shotgun on their gold shipment."

"He asks you every month."

"And every month I say no." Ethan dropped his stirrup into place, slipped his rifle into its boot, and secured his bedroll.

Amelia dismounted, tying her horse next to his. "Ethan, a two week trip one way and it's not safe. Three guards have been killed in the last six months." Amelia hesitated, then continued. "Let me loan you the money."

"Takin' a loan is what got me into this fix in the first place."

Amelia stiffened. "Are you accusing me of being the cause of all this?"

"No." Ethan's hand rested on his horse's rump. He stared into the distance avoiding Amelia's concerned look. "Amelia, I'm no rancher. I'm no farmer either. God knows I'm not so good at being a parent. But I took this place so's I could make a home for these children. I'll admit, I wasn't too fond of the idea, but I was willin'." Ethan slipped his spare revolver into his saddle bag and buckled it. "But it seems like the only way I'm gonna be able to hold onto this ranch is by doing exactly what I wanted to avoid. That's by makin' a living with a gun. No one's ever gonna let me forget what I am."

Amelia laid her hand on Ethan's arm. He stood rigid, anger etching his grim face. "I'll give you a chance to forget."

"You don't own the bank any more, Amelia," he said turning towards her at last. "And you don't own this place. Neither do we. Henderson holds the purse strings now." He must have read the hurt in her eyes, because his face softened. "I know it's not your fault. You gave us a chance to start with."

"Reluctantly. I wasn't much better than Henderson at the time."

Ethan gently caressed her cheek. His hand was rough and calloused, but the touch was tender. "Look after the children."

"Of course I will. They'll be here when you get back." Amelia stepped forward, leaning into his arms, burying her face against his chest. His coat was pungent with wood smoke, leather and the faint tang of gun oil. Resting her cheek against him, she felt the steady life-giving beat of his heart. She was reluctant to relinquish the warmth and comfort of his embrace, but he drew back and gently raised her face until she was looking up at him. Bending down, he k1ssed her. She could still feel anger in his parting kiss, but she understood and welcomed it, and it did not frighten her.

Their embrace was hardly long enough. Ethan pulled away and Amelia stepped back reluctantly as he swung eas11y into the saddle. Reaching up, she touched his hand, then he turned his horse and rode away.

"Be safe," she whispered into the wind.

~000~

Claire dropped the curtain back into place down at the table, picking up her sew1ng basket. It wasn't fair. She had watched her uncle ride off, hurt because he had not come in to say good bye, but she understood his haste. Claire took a deep breath, steadying herself against the sudden rush of tears which threatened to spill down her cheeks. It wouldn't do to let the boys or Mrs. Lawson see her crying. Mrs. Lawson had stood in the growing darkness staring after Uncle Ethan. _They're in love_ , Claire thought and it made her happy for Uncle Ethan, but that wasn't fair either because they were caught up in circumstances they could not control or change. It was all so confusing and nothing seemed to be going right. And it was all their fault, hers and the boys'. If they had not come to Paradise, Uncle Ethan would not have so many troubles. The rattle of the door latch caused Claire to jump and catch her breath.

~000~

Amelia slowly opened the cabin door and peeked in. The warmth felt good after the growing chill of the evening air. The fireplace burned brightly. The scent of cooking and hot tea brewing still lingered in the air. It should have been a cheerful room, but Amelia instantly sensed the tension within. Her heart went out to the children, always trapped between what they wanted and needed - a stable home - and what they all too often received - thoughtless, unyielding people who would not let them live and grow up happily. Despite Ethan's efforts, and his growing love for the children, there was simply too much instability in their lives, and far too many disappointments. For reasons she could not understand, Amelia felt guilty at times like these. Though she knew she could do no more than she already was.

Stepping inside, she walked to the table and sat down across from Claire. Amelia did not speak at first, uncertain what to say. She had once accused Claire of trying too hard to be a wife when she wasn't. Unfortunately, far too many adult duties had been thrust upon Claire when her mother died, and most of her girlhood had been lost. Amelia reached out now and lay her hand on Claire's arm.

"Are the boys asleep?"

"They're in bed." Claire sniffed, then tried to hide the sound by coughing. Except Joseph. I think he went for a walk."

"I'll help with the mending if you have another needle," Amelia offered.

Claire fumbled in her basket apparently grateful for the distraction and because Amelia had not asked about her tears. She found her case and carefully extracted one of her precious needles. She handed it and one of Uncle Ethan's shirts to Amelia. "The buttons are loose and there's a tear on the sleeve," she said.

Amelia carefully smoothed the shirt on the table in front of her. The fabric was soft and well worn, almost too thin in places. Sewing was not one of her better skills, but she needed to do something to feel she was helping.

"Ben was pretty upset." Claire offered without prompting.

Amelia was grateful for her attempt at openness. All too often, in times of stress, Claire closed up her heart and pushed her away. _Maybe we're making progress_ , Amelia thought.

"He's upset because Ethan had to leave again?" Amelia asked.

"Yes, and because he'd promised to take the boys to Carson City. It was supposed to be a special outing." Claire broke the thread she was using with her teeth, then neatly folded the pair of pants she had mended and picked up another. She seemed distracted, as though something else was troubling her.

"How's Joseph taking this?" Amelia pricked her finger with the needle. She didn't say ouch, though she wanted to. With her finger in her mouth, she sucked away the drop of blood before it stained Ethan's shirt.

"Joseph is angry." Claire put down her mending. "He's been unhappy a lot lately. I think he hates to admit he looks forward to these trips as much as Ben. Instead, he teases Ben and makes him cry. Then when something goes wrong, he says 'I told you so'. It's like he expects things to always go wrong."

 _All too often, they do_ , Amelia thought.

"It's almost like he's looking for a reason to be angry at Uncle Ethan. Like Uncle Ethan can't do anything right, and everything bad that happens is his fault. They always seem to be squabbling and Joseph always has something smart to say. Some nasty comment."

Amelia stopped stitching as well. She reached out and squeezed Claire s hand. "And you find yourself defending your uncle."

Claire nodded. "Oh, Mrs. Lawson, I don't know what to say. Sometimes I agree with Joseph, and then I feel like I'm betraying Uncle Ethan's trust. He's been good to us. He didn't ask for us and all this trouble, and sometimes I think it was a mistake for us to come here."

"Oh, Claire." Amelia opened her arms. Claire hesitated then got up from her chair and came around the table and into Amelia's embrace. Amelia gathered her close in her lap, brushing her hair aside, stroking its golden softness.

"I'm so confused. I feel like I'm the boys' mother and I have to be strong, and then I feel like all I want to do is cry." Claire shuddered with suppressed sobs.

"Maybe, that "s how Joseph feels as well," Amelia said kindly, swaying gently from side to side. "He's caught between being a man and a boy, between an adult and a child, not exactly sure what's expected of him and not always sure how to help. That helpless feeling often makes people angry."

Claire didn't speak, but Amelia could hear her quiet crying. She held the girl for a long time, rocking gently, until the tears began to subside. "It isn't your fault, Claire, or any of you. If anyone's to blame, it's me. I should have reminded Ethan of that two month payment before. I could pay off your loan and you would be done with Henderson for good." Amelia spoke with such determination Claire sat bolt upright.

"No, Mrs. Lawson, please don't. Uncle Ethan would never let you do that."

"He's as stubborn proud as he is hot-headed." Amelia spoke more to herself than to Claire.

"We have to stand on our own two feet if we're going to be a family. We have to."

 _And I'm not part of that family_ , Amelia thought to herself. Then aloud she said, "It's not wrong to accept a gift, Claire. It isn't always charity. Sometimes the kindness is born of love."

Claire's face clouded, the troubled look returning to her blue eyes. She lay her head on Amelia's shoulder and for a long time they sat together in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

~000~

Ethan rode into the Pacific Sierra Mining camp as the moon slowly rose, its silver light softening the harsh silhouettes of the squat bunk houses where exhausted workers slept before dawn and their labors returned. Riding through the darkened shanties, Ethan felt a sudden sharp tug of home- sickness. The feeling startled him. He never thought he would have such a strong desire to simply stay home, because he never thought he would call a place home. It had never before bothered him to leave the ranch behind and take on other work more suited to his talents. He usually relished the opportunity to get away, but this time it felt wrong to leave the children alone for so long a time.

And what was he going to do next month, and the month after that? Where would he find the money to fend off Henderson? When had he started worrying about money, anyway? What had happened to the days when money, ranch work, and children didn't matter?

 _That kinda thinkin' is gonna get ya killed_ , he thought.

He knew he couldn't do the work and do it well, if his mind was on anything but the job. As he approached the one brightly lit cabin in the cluster of mine shanties at the edge of the camp, he removed a stubby cigar from the pocket of his vest and lit it. The calm, routine action helped clear his mind. He would have to bargain with Morris to get the pay he wanted. Dismounting, he tied his horse and pushed open the cabin door.

~000~

James Morris looked up from the rough table which served as his desk and rubbed his gritty, tired eyes. He'd been shuffling the same paperwork back and forth for two weeks. Here he sat with a safe full of gold, two months of diggings he hadn't been able to transport to San Francisco for lack of dependable guards. Three men had been killed in the last six months on this run and no one wanted the job. It had been tagged as too risky, and most men shied from it, even though the pay was above average. Scratching his head he concentrated on how he was going to pay his workers. Then the squeal of rusty hinges and a draft of cool night air caused him to look up again.

"Well, if it isn't Ethan Cord," Morris drawled. "Have you decided to reconsider and accept my offer of work?"

"Nope." Ethan spoke around the cigar.

"Then what do you want?" Morris leaned back in his chair, grateful for the diversion, but cautious of Cord's motives.

"I've decided to reconsider and let you up your offer."

" _Up_ my offer?" Morris sat up straight, staring at the gunfighter.

"Yep. You need guards." Cord casually dropped his cigar butt on the floor and crushed it beneath his heel. "I'II be your guard. For a one way trip to San Francisco. For $300."

"My offer was $200 for a round trip."

"That was last month's offer. Last month you lost another man and your gold never made it fifty miles outta Paradise."

Morris rubbed his chin, aware of his situation. He knew Cord could be trusted to do the job if the money was right. The man was a gunfighter, but he abided by his own code which did not include theft. "You drive a hard bargain, Cord."

Ethan nodded somberly without speaking.

"Three hundred isn't unreasonable. But you'll have to be paid by the San Francisco office if it's a one way trip."

"I know. I'll want the money wired from San Francisco to Paradise as soon as the gold arrives safe."

Morris stood up, studying the gunfighter's face, but he could not read the man. Perhaps, that's what made him so good. "An unusual request, Cord. Especially from you. I thought you preferred hard cash."

"Unusual reasons," Cord said quietly.

"All right. I'll agree to that. I'll wire the main office and tell them it's approved from here. As soon as  
you get to San Francisco, the money will be wired to the Paradise Bank."

"Not to the bank. To Mrs. Amelia Lawson."

Morris was even more puzzled, but knew it was wiser not to question. "Agreed." He extended his hand, but Cord did not move to return the handshake. Morris nervously put his hand in his pocket. "You can hire whoever else you want to ride with you."

"You know I work alone. Just worry about your regular driver. I'll take care of the rest," Cord assured him, then silently left the tent.

Morris sat back in his chair and breathed a deep sigh of relief. Cord made him nervous. He'd seen the man in action once and knew he was a deadly force. Yet, he had also heard the gunfighter had settled down, taken to ranching, with four children, his sister's kids. Somehow, the rumor seemed to far-fetched to believe, but then, Cord's request had been unusual too.

~000~

"You don't have to come out every evening, Mrs. Lawson," Claire said as she wiped the last of the supper dishes, her manner brisk and business-like. "And you don't have to bring us food."

"It was just dessert," Amelia said lightly. "And it's no trouble. I enjoy your company. I thought you understood. I thought we had worked that out the other night."

"But it's such a long ride after you work all day. You must be tired." Claire methodically went through the motions of putting away their few dishes. She seemed distracted and had seemed so for the last four nights.

"Claire, I promised your uncle I would look in on you," Amelia said.

Claire was thoughtful for a moment. "Do you worry about him too?"

"Terribly," Amelia confessed, and had to admit _worry_ was too mild a term. Terrified better described her feelings, though she would never admit that to anyone. "Being with you and the boys helps me hold on to part of him while he's gone

Claire untied her apron, folded it neatly, and moved to the rocking chair by the fireplace. The soft, flickering light cast a bronze glow on her fine blonde hair, and shimmering strands of spun gold floated around her face.

 _The true riches of Paradise_ , Amelia thought, _and what we have so little of, children and families._

Slowly, Claire began to rock. Normally, she would have played her violin after supper, but she had not touched the instrument since Ethan had left four days ago.

"Claire," Amelia spoke at last, "Ethan's been gone before. "Maybe not for a whole month, but he s been gone on business and had to leave you and the boys. He will come back. We just have to believe that. He's very good at he does, even if we don't always approve."

Still the girl did not respond. She stared at the dancing firelight, its steady warmth bringing a rosy glow to her cheeks, then suddenly, she looked up at Amelia, a far-away, puzzled expression on her face. "Have you seen a stranger in town this last week, Mrs. Lawson?"

Amelia was momentarily taken aback by the sudden change in topic. "There are a lot of strangers in town, and I see most of them while I'm working." She laughed softly. "There is only one restaurant in Paradise."

"This man is tall. All dressed in black, with very white hair. Is he still in town? Is he at the hotel?"

"I seem to recall seeing someone like that. I believe he is staying at the hotel, but he keeps to himself. I don't even know his name. Why do you ask?"

"The boys ran into him on the street the other day. There's something about him that looks so familiar. I feel like I've met him before. But how could I?"

"I don't know, Claire. Maybe, it was someone you saw while you lived with your mother. While you were on tour. Things like that happen. He may be passing through Paradise for some reason. A lot of people pass through Paradise." _On their way to something better,_ she added silently.

"I don't know." Claire continued to rock. Amelia sat for a few moments longer, but it was late, and she sensed the conversation had ended, so she quietly took her leave.

~000~

Ethan squatted by the fire, nursing the dregs of a bad cup of coffee. He told himself again he needed to be alert, but his thoughts kept wandering. Despite his efforts to keep his mind on the job at hand, he found himself counting the days, hours and minutes. A broken axle had resulted in a late start from the Pacific Sierra office and even though he had pushed, the mules hauling the wagon could only go so far, so fast. As a result, they were at least a half day behind schedule. He had never liked being late, and he liked it even less now. Dumping the coffee, he stood and walked towards the perimeter of the camp. He would keep watch for another hour, then turn the responsibility over to one of the mine's hired guards, Jake Landers or Leroy Simpson. Morris had decided to hire extra men, despite Ethan's assurances he worked best alone. The pair had appeared at the mine office the morning they were scheduled to depart. They would have been left behind, if that axle had not needed repair. That co-incidence and their over-eagerness made Ethan suspicious. He didn't like relying on men he didn't know.

As he walked soundlessly around the camp's outer boundaries every nerve in his body was on edge and every sense alert for signs of danger. It was a physical and emotional state he had difficulty dealing with. His success as a gunfighter had always come from his ability to divorce himself from the situation he faced and deal with that set of circumstances unemotionally, with no consideration for his own possible demise. That calm detachment seemed a thing of the past and he still found this lack of control alarming. John Taylor had assured him the knowledge of his new responsibilities as a parent would enhance his innate abilities and make him better at what he did, but the worry was still an enormous distraction, and always, at the back of his mind, was the most nagging fear of all - what would become of the children should he be killed? They would be left to fend for themselves, or worse, separated and sent to foster homes far from each other, as he and Lucy had been. With that thought, he felt a gnawing guilt. After all Lucy had done for him, he had let her slip away, practically unknown. They had gone their separate ways, and over the years he had barely kept in touch with her. Unable to read or write, his occasional telegram had hardly been enough. He knew that now. With that nagging guilt came another realization. He knew nothing of Lucy's husband or his family. Had there been other relatives: uncles, aunts or grandparents? The children had never spoken of anyone and he had convinced himself Lucy had sent the children to him because he was the only family they had. Though they had upended every aspect of his life, they were his responsibility and he vowed they would not lose any more family.

~000~

Claire tossed restlessly in her sleep, fighting back a growing terror. She could see only blackness, then gradually the glimmer of lamps through a smoky haze. Voices were arguing. It was an old argument.

" _Wasting your lives," an angry male voice bellowed. "What kind of life is this? Always on the road, living in cheap hotels like vagabonds."_

" _An honest life," said the other voice, a woman's, gentle and well controlled._ It was her mother's voice Claire realized and her heart beat faster with recognition and excitement. It was her mother's voice! _"This is a respected troupe of entertainers. We are doing what we love."_

" _Trash!" the man yelled. His words were slurred and there was an odd, offensive smell. Claire crouched in a chair, holding Joseph who sobbed pitifully. The room was cold and she wanted to be warm. She wanted Mama to hold her and she wanted the shouting to stop. "Trash, trash, trash!" the man ranted. There was the sharp crash of breaking glass and mumbled curses Claire could not comprehend._

" _Please, you're frightening the children."_

" _The children? What do you care about the children? If you cared you would make a better life for them instead of living like tramps. You and that worthless son of mine."_

" _Tramps?"_ Claire could almost see her mother now through the dimness of the dream. She moved heavily as though rising from her chair was a tremendous labor. _"Tramps? These children are receiving the finest education. And experiences they might never have gained living in Chicago as you would like us to – tied to your church with no freedom to explore the world around them."_

" _Freedom of that kind bodes no good. And you, pregnant again. How can you subject another child to this?"_

" _What would you have me subject them to? The blind prejudices of your faith which gives no quarter and allows no growth. Or should I subject them to your drunken rages?"_

" _Why you slut? You blasphemer!"_

 _Claire heard another crash as a chair fell, then the sharp slap of an open palm striking flesh, and she too began to cry, helpless wracking sobs of terror. She dimly saw her mother on the floor where she had fallen, then the door flew open with a wood-splintering bang and another man was there, vaguer still than the memory of her mother. This new figure was angry too, his voice commanding. Claire could hardly hear through the terror of her own tears and Joseph's, but she remembered the last words he spoke. "You are no longer my father. As far as I'm concerned you are dead. Get out of here and stay away from my wife and my children. I never want to see you again!"_

Stopping her ears with balled fists, and struggling against the twisted bed clothes that held her down, Claire fought to stifle the sobs which had grown to sheer panic. Sitting upright she realized with relief, she was in Uncle Ethan s cabin. It had all been a nightmare. She looked furtively around, embarrassed she might have awakened the boys, but they still slept soundly - shapeless bundles huddled in their beds. She lay back down, shaking with remnants of the fear which had invaded her sleep. She fought to recall the details of the dream, but it was already slipping away from her. Holding her breath in an attempt to calm her rapidly beating heart, she listened to the familiar sounds around her, an owl hooting quietly in the darkness, the whispering wind and dry shuffling of fallen leaves, the creaking of the bedstead as Joseph rolled over.

But then the anxiety returned, for she knew the soft sounds of her uncle's breathing, usually heard through the thin walls of the cabin, were missing. Even though her brothers were all present, she felt terribly alone. Her brothers we were her responsibility as long as Uncle Ethan was gone. She was the oldest. And she was afraid.


	4. Chapter 4

~000~

"Well, Cord, looks like we might make it this time. Word musta got out you was along. Seems the name Ethan Cord still carries some weight."

Ethan rode silently beside the heavy wagon trying to ignore the driver's laconic comment, as he had been ignoring him for the past ten days. The other men, like thoughts of the children, were a distraction he preferred to eliminate. Besides, he did not share the man's optimism. For some time now he had believed they were being followed. Twice he had caught sight of shadows paralleling them, but when he had ridden to investigate he had found nothing. He refused to believe his imagination was getting the best of him. Shipments as rich as this one were rare in these parts since the big mine close downs which practically spelled the end of Paradise.

Word had probably circulated that the shipment would make a worthy prize for anyone willing to risk stealing it. Even his reputation could not guarantee it would not happen. In fact, his presence might increase the chances of someone making the attempt. He was still considered fair game by many would-be gunfighters who yearned to be the one who gunned down Ethan Cord.

"This looks like a good place to make camp," Ethan announced as they approached an open grove. There was plenty of distance between them and the nearest line of trees. Anyone trying to sneak across the clearing would certainly be seen and the coming moonless night would be ideal for an ambush. Wet, heavy clouds had been building throughout the day, and evening would bring a cold, soaking rain. Ethan felt the first drops splatter against his hat rim even as he slowed his mount.

"Why the early stop, Cord?" Simpson complained as he rode up next to Ethan. "You've spent the last ten days pushing to go further 'n faster."

"This is a good place to camp." To himself, Ethan admitted he would like to push on, but he knew travelling farther would put them into deep woods for the night making an ambush easier. "Landers, Simpson, I want you to take the first watch."

"But you always want-"

"I want you to take first watch," Ethan repeated flatly. Checking to see that his weapons were loaded, Ethan tucked his spare revolver into his belt and, unsheathing his shotgun, laid the weapon across his arm. "I'm gonna check the trees."

"For what, Cord?" Landers asked as he dismounted. "You expectin' comp'ny?"

"Just make camp." Ethan rode towards the tree line, cautiously searching for any signs they had been followed. Landers and Simpson were exactly the kind of "help" he preferred not to have and he felt compelled to watch them even more closely than he did the gold.

Methodically, Ethan patrolled the edge of the woods around the clearing. Whoever was following was keeping their distance. He doubted they would approach the camp until long after sunset. Studying their location from the vantage of the woods, Ethan figured the most likely attack should trouble come. Anyone attempting to overrun their camp would probably come from behind the wagon and picket line, using them for cover. Returning to the clearing, he positioned his bedroll so he could keep an eye on the wagon. He figured he had about three hours before it would be dark enough.

~000~

Jake Landers huddled in the cold, pelting, unmerciful rain pounding on his shoulders and cascading from the down turned brim of his hat. He was wet and miserable and wanted nothing more than to be in a warm saloon nursing a bottle of liquor. Instead, he was prowling through the soggy darkness, risking his life. It would be worth it, he tried to convince himself, not denying the greed which spurred him on. There was enough gold in that wagon to keep him in women and liquor for a long, long time and he wanted it. Even the possibility of having to face Ethan Cord in a gun battle could not put a damper on his unbridled desire for easy riches.

But he had not bargained on Cord. His cohort, Simpson, had assured him they would be the only guards. "No one else's fool enough to hire on," Simpson had said. When they arrived t the mine that bigwig Morris informed the there would be another man along with them. He had not said it would be Ethan Cord. Landers had almost backed out at that point, but Simpson kept painting pictures of wealth Landers just could not walk away from

So here he was, dripping wet, sneaking along the picket line of stock. He was supposed to let them loose and spook them. That was the signal for Simpson's brothers. Whe they saw the animals run, they were to attack the camp, kill the driver and grab the gold. That was the plan _before_ Cord. The Simpson brothers probably knew Cord was along since they had been following for two days, but they could not know for sure _who_ he was. Simpson said he would take care of Cord himself, and Landers was not going to argue about it.

Peering into the gloom, Jake could barely make out a shadow moving towards Cord's bed roll. The figure paused for a moment, blurry grey blotch in the blackness and driving rain. Then he ducked around the wagon behind which Cord was sleeping. Jake held his breath, loosened his knife and gripped it in a hand which was sweting despite the chill. He forced himself to breathe regularly and slowly. What was taking Simpson so long? Maybe Cord had given him trouble. Just as Jake was about to abandon his vigil to go investigate, Simpson emerged from Cord's tent, raised his hand and waved, their pre-arranged signal. Jake whistled softly in relief, then urned to the tsk of cutting loose the animals, Cord's horse first, then the mule team. As his knife sawed into the soggy rope, he heard the unmistakeable click of a revolver hammer being drawn back. Cold steel touched his neck.

"Cut that rope and I'll blow your head off."

Jake froze, a quiver of fear shivering up his spine. "C…Cord?" He could not keep the tremo out of his voice. He was chilled now from more than just the cold. He knew he was as good as dead.

"Surprised? Your partner was.' The voice was as cold as the gun's steel.

Jake could not answer.

"Drop the knife."

Jake wanted desperately to do as he was told, but fear had frozen every muscle.

"I said _drop it._ " The gun barrel pressed more firmly against the side of Jake's neck. Suddenly Jake understood why Cord was so good at what he did. He truly did not care whether Jake Landers lived or died, and without another moment of hesitation, Jake dropped the knife. As it fell to the soggy ground, a resounding clap of thunder exploded directly overhead.

Jake was sure he was dead, sure Cord's gun had been fired. He fell to his knees, sobbing in terror. He did not care that all around him horses reared and flashing hooves came within inches of his head. He already knew he was dead. Sobbing, he waited for the blackness he imagined death to be, but it never came. Instead, he heard a muffled curse, and felt Cord stumble over him as he dove for the saddle horse nearest him. But Jake had done his job well enough, and the half-cut rope could not hold the frightened animals. Jake was only half aware of Cord's vain attempt to stop the horses from bolting, but he was fully aware he was still alive, still unhurt, and free of the gunslinger's weapon. Leaping to his feet, he ran toward the gold filled wagon.

~000~

Ethan grabbed at the horse nearest him as it reared and twisted at its tether, its eyes flashing white and bulging with terror. The animal plunged, neighing in fear and one of its hooves caught Ethan's shoulder a glancing blow. Gritting his teeth against the bruising pain, he caught the horse's halter with his fingertips, but the slippery leather slithered through his numb fingers and he was knocked to the ground.

"Damn," he cursed and started to rise, then stopped. Through the gloom, he detected a new menace. The one he'd expected. Three riders emerged from the rain swept night, converging on the wagon at the center of camp. Another bolt of lightning glinted off the blue-black metal of rifle barrels as the riders passed him, unaware of his presence.

~000~

Shivering, Jake Landers crouched beside the wooden side of the wagon, his back pressed against its solid comfort. He clutched his gun so hard his fingers ached, and he tried to see through the blackness and the rain. What had happened to Simpson, and where were his brothers? The signal had been given. They were supposed to take care of the driver, but if they didn't get here soon, the men might get him instead.

"Well, what da ya know. A real drowned rat."

Jake jumped to his feet, his teeth chattering so hard he could hardly talk.

"Where's Leroy?" asked the tall shadow on horseback.

"C…Cord," Jake stammered.

"I cain't hear you."

"Cord. Ethan Cord. He's ridin' shotgun on this shipment. We didn't have any way to warn you."

"Cord!" The man on horseback wheeled his animal, searching the darkness. "Ben, Jonah!" The sharp crack of gun fire silenced him and he slumped forward in his saddle, before slipping off into the muck.

Jake shrieked as the man landed at his feet, his eyes wide open with surprise. He heard shouts from the direction of the driver's tent. There was a confusion of voices penetrating Jake's dulled senses, but nothing could move him to action. He stared at the dead man lying at his feet until a volley of gunfire exploded to his right. That was it. That was enough. He threw down his gun and ran into the night. He didn't plan on stopping until he'd left the state and all its gold far behind him.

~000~

Ethan slowly lowered his smoking revolver. One of the robbers lay at his feet, two were near the wagon, Jake Landers had disappeared into the night and Ethan was confident he would not return. The wagon driver had arrived, too late to be of any help. As he stood beside Cord, holding his gun and quickly soaking to the skin, he gaped at the scene around him. But for Cord s presence, he might have been the one lying so still in the mud.

"The gold's 'safe. Simpson's tied up near my bedroll." Ethan spoke bluntly. "But they spooked the horses and mules. We won't be able to look for them 'til morning. In the mean - time roll that body under the wagon. We'll bury them tomorrow.

~000~

"I'm not surprised."

"Joseph," Claire said sharply.

"Well, what did you expect, Claire? Did you really think the money would be here in time? The mortgage was due yester- day." Joseph slammed the door of the telegraph office. He didn't look at his sister. He knew she was trying hard not to cry, but he wasn't going to deny the truth. Once again, they'd depended on Uncle Ethan to solve their problems and once again he'd failed. The mortgage money was overdue, and there had been no telegram from their uncle.

"Joseph, maybe something happened. Uncle Ethan could be hurt or dead." Claire stifled a sob with her handkerchief.

Joseph kicked viciously at a pebble in the dusty street. He was angry, at Uncle Ethan, and at Henderson, for causing so much trouble, and at Claire for always being so positive. He wondered at her gloomy outlook. It was so unlike her, but he knew in her next breath she would be lecturing him on how he never gave Uncle Ethan a chance, never tried to make things work. But he had tried, tried too hard, and now he was getting tired of it. Maybe, it really was time for him to set off on his own.

"Joseph, please don't…" Claire's words drifted off in mid-sentence.

"Don't what, Claire? Don't criticize out uncle? Why not?" Then Joseph realized Claire wasn't listening to a word he was saying. She was staring, and as he followed her gaze, his heart skipped a beat. Riding down the street was Henderson, who tipped his hat at them and smile his oily, conniving smile. But it was the man with Henderson who made Joseph's skin crawl. He was dressed in black, like a preacher. His hair was snowy white, his round face sallow, his red-rimmed eyes a watery blue. Yet, despite his look of ill health, he sat ramrod straight in his saddle and gazed down at them-with a haughty self-righteousness which made Joseph nervous and seemed to terrify Claire.

"Claire," Joseph nudged his sister gently. "What's the matter, Claire?"

"Let's go home, Joseph. Let's go now." Claire untied her horse, mounted and was halfway down the street before Joseph had even moved.

~000~


	5. Chapter 5

~000~

Claire pulled her mount to a dusty halt in front of the cabin, dismounting before the gelding came to a full stop.

Ben and George raced across the yard to her, yelling and shrieking.

"Did it come? Did it come, Claire?" George asked eagerly, skidding to a stop against her legs. Ben, close behind, almost crashed into him.

Claire hugged her little brothers fiercely, afraid to answer their questions, because she knew her voice would betray her. She looked up to see Mrs. Lawson standing on the front porch, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"We were just going to have lunch, Claire. Where's Joseph? Didn't he come back with you?"

"He's coming," Claire said as she looked over her shoulder. There was a rider in the distance approaching at a leisurely pace.

Mrs. Lawson saw the rider at the same time Claire did. "Who is that, I wonder?" Mrs. Lawson said absently.

"Probably fat, old Mr. Henderson," Ben said.

"Ben!" Claire said sharply, remembering to reprimand him for his unkind remarks.

"Well, he is. And **m…m…"**

"Mean too," finished George.

"Do you know who it is, Mrs. Lawson?" Ben asked.

"No," Mrs. Lawson answered, "but I think Claire does."

Claire looked into Mrs. Lawson's steady hazel eyes and she could not deny her suspicions. She did not know for sure, who the stranger in black was, but she had a good idea. If he was who she suspected, it could mean the end of everything, even if Henderson didn't evict them.

"There's Joseph," yelled George, pointing beyond the stranger.

Joseph overtook the man in black and arrived in front of the cabin moments before he did. Dismounting as quickly as Claire had, Joseph stepped close to his sister, as though defending them all from an approaching menace.

"Uh, oh," Ben said softly. Claire knew Ben recognized the rider as the man he had bumped into on the street. Was this stranger involved with Henderson and his scheme to have them thrown off the ranch?

"Good day, children, ma'am." The stranger tipped his hat graciously as he reigned to a stop next to Joseph's horse. He smiled, but the smile never touched his eyes which were cold and heartless. His voice reminded Claire of a hellfire-and-damnation preacher she had heard one summer in a travelling tent show revival. The preacher had woven a mesmerizing spell over the congregation with his voice and his words. The maniacal frenzy of the crowd in that stifling tent had terrified her. This stranger's voice echoed with the same commanding tones, and her skin prickled with alarm.

"Please get off our property," Claire ordered abruptly.

"Why, young lady, it is my understanding this no longer _is_ your property."

"The bank hasn't formally foreclosed yet," Mrs. Lawson said, stepping up behind the children.

"And who are you to speak for them?" The man remained on his horse, looking down like an offended god from its height.

"A friend," Mrs. Lawson answered coolly, unflustered by the man's pose.

"Yes," said the man contemptuously. "Yes, you would be Mrs. Lawson. I've heard of you relationship with the gunfighter. I understand the nature of your _friendship_ **."**

Mrs. Lawson did not grace the man's implication with an answer.

"You have no right to be here," Claire said, fighting her growing sense of panic. "Leave us alone."

"There's no need to be hostile, young lady. I mean you no harm." He studied her for a while before he spoke again. "It would seem there's a bit of your uncle in you. Hot tempers run in his family."

"What would you know about what runs in our family?" Joseph challenged, speaking for the first time.

Claire reached over and squeezed his hand gratefully. His presence gave her confidence. It was not easy to stand alone under this man's piercing scrutiny.

The stranger thrust out his chest, looked down his nose and studied them with rheumy eyes. "Because, young man, your uncle's sister, your mother, was my daughter-in-law. My name is Jacob Carroll, and I'm your grandfather."

~000~

Amelia's breath caught at his announcement. She could see Claire shift her position placing herself between Jacob Carroll and her young brothers. She obviously did not trust the man and did not want her brothers too close, but they peered curiously through and around her legs, and appeared cautiously excited.

"I don't think you should be here," Claire said. "Not when Uncle Ethan is out of town."

"But I am family. It is my understanding you have offered your home to far less reputable travelers than myself."

"I think you should go now." Amelia could hear the angry fear edging Claire's voice. "Now," Claire repeated.

"As you wish, young lady. But I _will_ be back. Soon. We are going to get to know each other _very_ well." So saying, Jacob Carroll turned his horse and slowly rode away in the direction of town. For an endless minute they all held their breath before Ben and George exploded with questions.

"Is he really who he s…says he is?" Ben began.

"Is he our grandfather?"

"Mama never talked about him. Do you remember him, Claire?"

"Why didn't anyone tell us about him before?" Joseph demanded.

"Did he come here to Paradise to live?" George asked.

"I don't know." Claire covered her face with her hands and shook her head. "I don't know anything."

The children had forgotten Amelia. She lay a hand on Claire's shoulder and could feel the girl shaking with emotion. Whether it was fear, anger or relief the man was gone, Amelia could not tell. Maybe it was all three. For her own part Amelia felt the children were threatened by Jacob Carroll's presence. Although life with Ethan was often filled with instability and danger, their mother had chosen to send the children to him, not to this stranger who claimed to be their grandfather.

~000~

Later that night, as Claire tucked her brothers into bed, she felt again the fear which had hovered at the edge of her life since she had first seen Jacob Carroll in Paradise over two weeks ago. What would happen if they were forced to go away with him? Why was he here, now, when Uncle Ethan was away? What if the law or someone else decided they would be better off with their grandfather?

"Claire," George said, his voice concerned. "Claire, why are you crying?"

"Nothing." With the back of her hand, Claire quickly swiped away the tear that rolled down her cheek.

"Claire?" It was Ben's turn to speak. "Why didn't Mama ever tell us we had a grandfather?"

"I don't know Ben. Maybe she didn't know." Claire smoothed the quilt over them. "Maybe she thought he was gone, or even dead. Sometimes folks lose track of one another when they are far away."

"Like she lost track of Uncle Ethan? Like she thought he owned the hardware store?"

"Yes, like that."

"Is he our grandfather?" George asked, rubbing his eyes and yawning sleepily, worn out by the evenings' excitement and still too young to understand its implications.

"I'm not sure. I only saw him once when I was very young. So was Joseph. You two weren't even born yet. I don't think he and Papa got along very well."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure, George."

"Grown-ups are like that sometimes," Ben said sagely.

"Will he stay with us?" George questioned, yawning again.

"I don't know, George," Claire repeated. "All I know is we'll talk about it when Uncle Ethan comes home."

"When will Uncle Ethan be back?"

"Soon, George. Now go to sleep. It's late." Claire ruffled his hair, tucked the covers tightly under his chin, then blew out the lamp and went back to the kitchen. Mrs. Lawson was still there. She had set a pot of fragrant tea to steep on the back of the stove. Joseph entered carrying an armload of wood, and knelt by the fireplace, methodically feeding the fire. He had been unusually quiet all evening and Claire wondered what he was thinking.

They didn't speak as Mrs. Lawson poured each of them a cup of tea and sat down at the table. "What is it, Claire?" she asked at last. Why does he frighten you so?"

Claire looked at Mrs. Lawson, then at Joseph's expectant face. _Wha_ _t_ _does_ _h_ _e want me_ _t_ _o say?_ She thought desperately. "I think he _is_ our grandfather. Mrs. Lawson. What if he tries to take us away from Uncle Ethan? What would Uncle Ethan do without us? Would he go back to being what he was?"

"He's never stopped being what he was," Joseph remarked sourly. "He never can."

"But he's tried to change for us," Claire insisted, "He's trying to make us a home."

"How can he make us a home when he can't even pay the mortgage?"

"Claire. Joseph." Mrs. Lawson spoke sharply as though she were in no mood for their argument. "That isn't all that's frightening you, is it, Claire? Aren't you more afraid of what will happen to you .and the boys?"

Claire nodded, sinking into her rocking chair. "I can barely remember our grandfather. I was little at the time. Joseph was just a baby and Ben and George weren't born yet. He came to our rooming house, and there was a horrible fight. I remember the yelling and he smelled of liquor. He was drunk, calling Mama awful names because she was an actress. He hit her, then Papa came home. It was one of the few times I remember Papa being truly angry. He and Grandfather argued. Later, after Papa died, when Mama got sick, there was never any question we would stay with anyone except Uncle Ethan. I'd forgotten about Grandfather until I saw him two weeks ago. In Paradise."

Mrs. Lawson walked over and knelt in front of Claire, taking her hands in hers. "I'm sure everything is going to work out just fine, Claire. There's no reason for you to worry. Maybe your grandfather just wants to see you children. Sometimes, when you grow old, you get to thinking about the mistakes you've made in the past and you want to make up for them somehow. Especially with family. There's no need to think he wants anything more than that."

"But why did he wait until Uncle Ethan was gone?"

 _Why indeed_ , Amelia thought. And did Henderson's sudden burning desire to straighten out his bookkeeping with Ethan have anything to do with this stranger's arrival in Paradise? She prayed Ethan had time to return before they found out the answers.

~000~


	6. Chapter 6

Ethan fought the urge to push his horse to a full gallop. He knew it would be foolish to ask any more of the animal. It had already carried him farther and faster than he ever should have demanded, yet he had the nagging urge to press him harder. After the Simpson boys had attempted to steal the gold shipment, it had taken almost a day to round up their scattered horses and mules. With the time they had already lost, they didn't arrive in San Francisco until two days after they were scheduled, three days past the date Henderson had set for the final loan payment. Even though Ethan had wired the money to Paradise as soon as he had received it, he was already too late to stop Henderson from making good on his threat to foreclose. The best Ethan could hope for was to get to Paradise before the children were faced with moving out alone.

As he rode the final miles, the pounding of his horse's hooves was the only sound Ethan heard. His body ached from the hard ride, but he was almost home and he could not shake the feeling something was desperately wrong. Giving in to the urge to move faster, he pushed his horse to a full gallop, balancing effortlessly in the saddle, at one with the animal, a feeling which normally brought him inordinate joy and freedom of spirit. Today, he felt only anxiety. It had been four weeks since he had ridden away from the ranch and rounding the final bend, he brought his horse to a sudden halt. The gelding pranced restlessly, scenting home and as anxious to arrive as its rider. But Ethan reined him in, reaching over to absently stroke the horse's neck, before allowing him to continue.

The cabin was ominously dark. No smoke curled from the chimney, and there was a dreadful stillness surrounding the place. Riding up to the front door, Ethan felt a knot in his throat. Nailed to the crude wooden barricade blockading the front door, was a yellow square of paper, which rustled in the breeze. Ethan didn't need to read the words scrawled across its surface. He knew all too well what it said. The paper announced the auction which would sell their few belongings to settle their debt with the bank. More unsettling was the knowledge that the children were not at the ranch and had not been for several days.

Turning his protesting mount towards town, Ethan spurred him forward again, urging the animal to a full gallop. Perhaps, the children were with Amelia. He had to let them know he was back, then tomorrow, he would deal with Henderson, on a one to one basis. Paradise was only five miles from the ranch, yet the ride seemed endless. The sun had set as Ethan rode down the main street. The stores were dark, but light, laughter and music came from the hotel. Ethan dismounted and tied his horse to the rail in front of the building, chiding himself for not properly cooling the animal, but he had to see the children now. Taking the front steps two at a time, he entered the hotel and scanned the dining room quickly, but did not see the faces he sought. He slipped by the doorway, hoping to avoid needless conversation, then ran up the steps to the second floor, and Amelia's rooms. Walking quickly and quietly down the hall to her door, Ethan rapped sharply, then waited, straining to hear the sounds of the children. He was rewarded with the softest rustling of full skirts and petticoats. The latch clicked and Amelia opened the door.

"Oh, Ethan!" she cried joyfully, throwing herself into his arms and hugging him tightly. Then she stepped back and her hazel eyes clouded. "Ethan-"

"Where are the children?" Ethan demanded, pushing past her to look around her rooms for signs they were here with her.

"Ethan, they-"

"Amelia, where are they?" Ethan turned on her, grabbing her by the shoulders and looking into her eyes. The feeling of anxiety which had slowly built through the day, exploded now in a burst of helpless rage, and unfortunately, it was Amelia who felt the first unbridled force of it. He wanted to shake her like a rag doll. "Where are they? You promised they'd be here."

Amelia broke free of his hold and stepped backward, an anger as intense as his own flashing in her eyes. "I tried, Ethan. But there was nothing I could do."

"Where are they?" Ethan repeated harshly.

"They're probably in Chicago by now."

Amelia's voice had risen and Ethan knew he was accusing the wrong person. It wasn't her fault, whatever had happened, and he would gain nothing by turning his rage on her. Backing off, he could see she was attempting to control her emotions.

"They were supposed to be here." Ethan ground out the words through tightly clenched teeth. "I trusted you-"

"And I didn't betray your trust, Ethan," Amelia shot back, interrupting him. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then walked over to him and gently touched his cheek.

Ethan knew an explanation would come. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her. "What happened?"

Amelia drew back and held him at arm's length, her hazel eyes filled with frustration. "Did you know their grandfather was still alive?"

Ethan shook his head. "No. I never knew my brother-in- law or his family. I figured Lucy sent the children to me 'cause there wasn't anyone else. If she'd know what I really was, she might have done differently."

"No, Ethan, don't think that. Lucy knew you well enough to know she was doing the right thing. She sent the children to you for a reason, and you haven't proven her wrong."

"Then why aren't they here?"

Amelia didn't answer at first. Ethan could see she was weighing her words. "He said his name was Jacob Carroll," she said. "Sometime before you left for San Francisco, he arrived in Paradise. Claire him. So did the boys, but they didn't know who he was. Evidently, he met with Henderson, and shortly after their meeting, Henderson decided it was time to balance your account at the bank. Carroll didn't approach the children until after you had been gone over two weeks. When it appeared you wouldn't get the money here on time to pay the mortgage and Henderson would foreclose, Carroll rode out to the ranch and told us who he claimed to be. Claire was the only one old enough to even vaguely remember him."

Amelia drew Ethan to the settee and made him sit down next to her. Ethan suddenly felt a century old. The anxiety which had spurred him home and the anger which had driven him to town suddenly drained from him and in its place he felt only bone weary exhaustion.

"He had a will," Amelia continued, "supposedly written by the children's father, naming him as their legal guardian."

Ethan rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. A year ago it would not have mattered. A year ago he would have been glad to be rid of the children and go back to the way of life their arrival had disrupted. But now, their absence cut like a knife. He hated to admit how much he had looked forward to seeing them again, how much he had counted on George and Ben and their uninhibited, boyish enthusiasm. In his mind's eye he could see them, rushing from the cabin into his arms. Even Joseph's subdued greeting would have been welcome. This emptiness and loss was unbearable, but he could not admit it even to Amelia. "Maybe, it's for the best," he said. "They never should have come here. They're probably better off with him." Even to his own ears, the words sounded hollow and there was no conviction in his voice.

Amelia touched his cheek, turning his face toward her. "No, Ethan, I don't believe that. You are the best thing for them and besides, when the children met him, something didn't feel right."

"You thought the same thing when they first came to Paradise," he reminded her.

Amelia flushed, embarrassed by her earlier opinion of him, as she always was. "This time it wasn't only me who felt it. Claire felt it was wrong too. She was afraid of the man. Deeply afraid. Her only memory of him was of a drunken outburst and a terrible argument he had with Lucy and their father."

"Claire was afraid and you still let them go with him?" Ethan asked accusingly.

"There was legally nothing I could do. His papers seemed to be in order. There was no judge here to say differently. They could have been a forgery, but none of us knew what your brother-in-law's signature looked like. We did all we could, Ethan."

Ethan did not speak and Amelia could only imagine what he was thinking. She understood how he longed for the freedom he had enjoyed for so long and how he missed the danger he used to revel in. But she also had seen the pleasure on his face and in his eyes as he basked in the love and admiration of George and Ben. She'd experienced the warmth and laughter of their home and she knew, contrary to her first beliefs, Ethan had proven he could be a responsible parent. And, more importantly, the children had grown to love him.

"Ethan," Amelia spoke gently. "His blood ties are no stronger than yours. You've cared for the children since their mother's death. Given the choice, I'm sure they would choose to stay here with you. I think we should give them that choice."

"How? You said his papers were legal?"

"Appeared legal. I had no right to challenge him. You do."

"Then I'm going to Chicago to bring them back." Ethan rose to his feet, his hand automatically going to the gun holstered at his side.

"Ethan, you can't go after them alone. Not with a gun strapped to your side. The authorities will never listen to your claim if you threaten or harm their grandfather. Leave the gun here and let me come with you."

"As you so often point out, you're a married woman, and not married to me."

"If necessary, that can be changed."

Ethan stared blankly at her for a moment.

"Marriage licenses can be forged, just like wills can."

Ethan slowly grinned. "I thought poker was my game?"

"Two can play a bluff if the stakes are high enough."

~000~


	7. Chapter 7

~000~

Ethan rode slowly out of town toward the cabin. Amelia's arguments were convincing and as she talked her enthusiasm and confidence were contagious, but now, alone, he began to have doubts. Perhaps the old man had more right to raise the children than he did. How often in the last year had he resented their presence and wished they had never turned his life upside down? It might not have been the best life, but he had always known and accepted who and what he was and he had relied on himself alone. Too often, he had come to question those certainties in the last year. The children left him with feelings he simply could not understand: anger, frustration, bewilderment and love. He hated the anxious moments, and he could easily live without the fears which went along with raising children, but he did not know if he could go back to living with the aloneness which had been so much a part of his life before their arrival. And he knew he was not yet ready to give up their love. Knowing that love had been taken from him, behind his back, when he could not defend his own right to care for the children only brought the burning hatred back full force. Who was this mysterious grandfather and why had he suddenly appeared in Paradise? Taking the children in Ethan's absence went against every sense of fairness Ethan understood. Granted, he wasn't the most sterling example of a law abiding citizen, but he had always been true to his own code of right and wrong and that code had been instilled in him by Lucy.

The anger grew as he neared the darkened cabin he had come to call home. He rode his weary mount up to the corral and stripped off its saddle and bridle. The animal nickered softly, glad to be home. Ethan carefully curried and brushed the horse, working with practiced efficiency until the animal's glossy hide shimmered copper in the lantern light. The gelding had served Ethan well, and deserved a long rest and good care, but Ethan knew his patient grooming was only a diversion. He put his anger into each brush stroke, prolonging the activity as his hatred smoldered. At last Ethan led the horse to its stall. He forked fresh hay into its manger and filled the gelding's feed and water buckets.

There was nothing left to do now, except face the inevitable. Closing the stable gate he walked slowly towards the darkened cabin he had avoided looking at until now. He knew all too well what he would find and he knew his temper would get the best of him. Approaching the cabin, he stared at the boards nailed across the door. Seething with silent indignation, he stomped to the wood pile. For the briefest moment his anger was tempered with guilt. The woodpile was woefully small, hardly enough to get them through the winter months. He was supposed to have helped Joseph finish cutting wood a month ago, but other things kept getting in the way. Grabbing the ax that sat next to the chopping block, he strode back to the cabin and up the steps. He swung the ax once and the crude barricade splintered. Tearing the remnants from the door frame, shredding the auction announcement, he let himself in. This was his home, and damn it, no one was going to tell him he could not spend the night here.

As he stepped into the silent darkness, the last vestige of his anger vanished. In its place he felt a hollow emptiness. The cabin's main room, usually bright, warm and carefully tended, was dark, cold, and echoed of loneliness. The absence of the children was like an aching in his soul. He had grown accustomed to Claire's efficient housekeeping and the boys' equal determination to create clutter. Walking to their deserted bedroom, he looked in. The beds had been carefully made, but the dresser drawers stood ajar, as though they had been emptied in haste. He bent to retrieve something shoved halfway under Ben and George's bed. It was the toy pumper Ben had carried all the way from St. Louis. Ethan carried the shiny red miniature back into the main room. There, on the sideboard, he saw Claire's violin case. Ethan smiled softly. He had never really cared for that violin, but he knew how much it meant to her, how she clung to it as a reminder of the life they had lost along with their mother. Maybe leaving the violin and the toy was their way of telling him they wanted to come back. Maybe, it was their way of telling him they expected him to follow and bring them back. They had left their most valued possessions here in his safe keeping, waiting for their return, and this time, he was not going to let them down.

~000~

"Mildred," Henderson called without looking up from his desk. "As soon as you get a moment, will you please bring me the cash drawer receipts from yesterday? And I need a list of the properties to be auctioned at the Cord ranch tomorrow."

Henderson stopped. He had handled a gun only once in his life, yet he recognized the unmistakable click of a revolver hammer slowly being drawn back. Nervously, he looked up from his paperwork and gulped against the sudden dryness in his throat as sweat beaded his brow. He was staring into the silent and deadly cavern that was the muzzle of a loaded six gun. Following the arm which held the weapon so steadily, he knew his worst fears had come to life. Holding the revolver centered unwaveringly on the middle of Henderson's forehead, was Ethan Allen Cord. The man's face was as cold as the winter sun, and the banker knew, if Cord chose to pull the trigger, he would end the day as a lifeless corpse. The gunfighter had a reputation as a killer, and Henderson knew a fear few had lived to walk away from.

"There ain't gonna be no auction at the Cord ranch tomorrow." Cord's voice was calm, and the unspoken threat deadly.

Henderson started to protest, but could only sputter incoherently.

"I said, there ain't gonna be no auction at the Cord ranch tomorrow or any other day." Cord slowly reached into his vest pocket with his left hand and withdrew a fat bundle of bills.

"There's the money I owe. Back rent, through this month. Now, you make sure when I get back my place is still mine, or I'm gonna come back here and finish what I started."

Henderson nodded dully, his eyes never leaving the gun barrel so calmly leveled at his head. Then the gun was back in its holster and he was staring at Cord's back as the man walked from his office. When Mildred entered, he was still sitting silently. His jaw worked, but no sound emerged.

~000~

Amelia rode her palomino mare from the livery as Ethan emerged from the bank. For a moment, she felt a twinge of apprehension. Had he gone too far and settled his grievance with Henderson?

But as he rode up beside her he spoke grimly, "He's alive." He gave no further explanation as he rode on past her without waiting, down the dusty street towards the edge of town.

Amelia easily overtook him and rode quietly beside him until they passed beyond the last storefront at the edge of Paradise. "I thought we agreed to handle this without guns?" she admonished.

"I agreed to handle Carroll without a gun," he corrected her. "It's a long was to Chicago," Ethan said shortly. He stared straight ahead, making no further effort to converse.

 _And it's going to be a long ride,_ Amelia thought. _Why does he make me feel so guilty? What was I to do? Throw myself in front of the stage to keep them from leaving?_ She shook the thought before she spoke. "I think it would be wise to inquire at each stop. Surely someone will remember an older man travelling with four children. They might not have gotten as far as Chicago."

"Why wouldn't they?" Ethan's voice was cold and Amelia could feel his icy stare. It had been a long time since she felt such intense animosity from him. She reminded herself he wasn't really angry at her, nor she at him. They were both lashing out at the closest available person when they really wanted to lash out at Jacob Carroll.

"Just a feeling," Amelia finally answered.

They rode at a brisk pace, but Amelia wanted to spur her mount into a gallop, to ride away from the anger she felt so palpably. She longed to feel the wind whipping through her hair, and enjoy the thrill of the ride. She wanted to tempt Ethan to pursue her, as he had done before, laughing as he overtook her. The times they had ridden together for pleasure had been few, yet she loved to watch him ride. It was one of the rare activities he truly took pleasure in. She understood that feeling. But this ride would generate no such rapture. There would be no laughter in him until the children were found.


	8. Chapter 8

"So you remember them?" Amelia asked the ticket agent in Reno as he laid their train tickets on the counter. They had taken time to change and bathe, though Ethan sullenly protested against any slight delay. Amelia knew they would improve their chances of recovering the children if they did not present themselves in travel worn clothing. She was all business now, her manner formal and controlled.

"Sure do," the man behind the counter replied. He was tall and thin, and his dark eyes, behind thick glasses were quick to take in her rich dress and accessories. Amelia's gloved hand fingered the necessary money from her purse, pausing on an extra bill, sure he did not miss the action.

"Nice kids," the man continued. "Well behaved. Felt sorry for the littlest one though. Kept bawlin' 'bout 'Uncle Ethan.' Like ta broke my heart he did." The clerk pushed his spectacles farther up on his long nose. "And the man they-were with was no prize."

"How do you mean?" Amelia pressed the man for information, while she watched Ethan's reaction out of the corner of her eye. So far he had listened without comment, although his eyes darkened.

"Well, the youngins kept callin' him 'sir' and were real respectful, but he was harsh as sandstone, that one was. Snapped at them awful. Pushed the little ones around. 'Specially the dark haired one. The one with the stutter. Why ya interested, ma'am?"

"Because I'm Uncle Ethan," Ethan said grimly. He reached past Amelia to take the two tickets.

"There was one other thing struck me as odd," the ticket agent added.

"What?" Ethan demanded.

"Well, the girl, a pretty little thing, said they were going to Chicago, but the old man only bought tickets for Cooperstown. That's the other side of the Nevada border in Utah. It's just a little whistle stop. Not much of anything there. Course, they could go just about anywhere east from that point. Could be they're plannin' on gettin' tickets for the rest of the trip to Chicago there, though it would have been easier to get them from me. Oh, and one more thing. He only bought four tickets."

"Thank you for your time," Amelia said, slipping the man an extra five dollars.

"Thank you ma'am," the clerk replied, nodding his appreciation as he snatched up the bills. "Any time I can be of service."

Amelia hurried to catch up to Ethan, who was already half out the door. She knew what he was thinking. If Carroll had put the children on the train, then stayed in Reno, and Ethan found him, he was as good as dead. "Ethan!" she called as he disappeared out the door. Gathering her skirts, she rushed after him, his long stride quickly taking him through the people in front of the railroad depot. She pushed through the milling crowd and struggled to catch up to him. "Ethan, wait, please!"

She saw his step slow and when she was near enough, she grabbed his arm, causing him to turn around. He looked at her, then tight-lipped, he stared off down the street. Amelia could feel the tension in him and saw it in his clenched fists. His entire body was taut as a bowstring, and his forced calm simply an illusion. "Where are you going?" she asked, her own voice artificially steady.

"If he's still in this town, I'm gonna find him."

"Ethan, you don't know for sure he didn't get on the train with the children."

"Don't know he did either."

"The fact that he didn't buy a ticket for himself doesn't prove anything. He may have already had it." Amelia could see her arguments were not going to deter Ethan, but she had to try.

"I've got four hours before that train leaves, and I'm gonna find out." He turned to leave, but Amelia did not release her grip on his arm.

"Reno is a big town. Where are you going to look?"

"Claire said he was a drinking man. Chances are he still is. There's only so many saloons." He moved away from her, easily breaking her grasp.

"Ethan," she spoke to his back as he started away from her. "You don't even know what he looks like."

He paused long enough to turn and stare at her, as if that bit of information was of no consequence.

"But I do," she said as she stepped to his side. "We'd better hurry. We've got a lot of town to cover."

~000~

It was much easier than Amelia had expected. She accompanied Ethan, knowing it was best to let him play out his hunch and hoping she would be able to stop him before he did anything drastic. Jacob Carroll may, or may not be guilty of some illegality. And while she could not prove anything one way or the other, she knew he had done nothing which deserved justice at the end of a gun. Their search was rewarded when they entered the fifth saloon. The bar keeper remembered a white haired gentleman fitting the description Amelia gave him.

"Yep," the barkeeper said pulling at his oily mustache. "Kinda bad tempered that one. Don't drink with no one neither. Just comes in and buys a bottle every morning. Sometimes again at night. Takes it across the street to the hotel." The man pointed through the smeary front window towards the run down building across the street.

Ethan did not wait to hear more. Amelia thanked the bartender and slipped him a few dollars. She had planned on paying all the expenses of this venture, but she had not expected to supplement the salary of every bartender in Reno.

~000~

The flimsy door burst inward with a shattering crash sending shards of splintered door frame flying through the air. Ethan stepped through, drawing his gun with one fluid movement and held it trained on the still figure lying half across the table in the middle of the room.

"Is that him?" he asked Amelia without taking his eyes from the man.

Amelia stepped into the room as Ethan straightened the man in his chair. The man and the room stank of liquor and sweat. He had not shaved in days and must have been drinking non-stop since his arrival in Reno. Amelia had only seen Jacob Carroll twice, but she could not forget him. She recognized his face though it was now bloated with alcohol. His eyes were red-rimmed as they slowly opened and his snowy hair was greasy and unkempt. He wore the same suit he had worn in Paradise although now is immaculate lines were stained and rumpled.

"It's him," she said flatly, repulsed by the way he had degraded himself. The recovering her sense of command she spoke evenly to Ethan. "Your gun," she reminded him firmly. She watched Ethan's silent struggle, a battle between his anger and his promise to her. At last the gun was lowered and Ethan slid the weapon into its holster.

Grabbing the front of Carroll's jacket with both hands, Ethan slammed him farther back into the chair. "Where are the children?" he demanded in a voice Amelia rarely heard. It was a voice which chilled her. It spoke of ruthless determination and cold-blooded destruction. She had only he heard Ethan speak that way once before, when he had told her of his vow to kill Harlan Ivy. "I said, where are the children?"

Amelia took ·firm hold of Ethan's arm. "He can't hear you, Ethan. He's been out cold. Give him a minute to wake up."

Ethan slapped the man sharply across the face, and Carroll looked groggily up at them. "Wha'?" he mumbled, his voice slurred and almost incoherent.

"Where are the children?" Ethan repeated a third time. "What have you done with them?"

"Gone." The man's hands fluttered aimlessly. "Gone."

"Gone where?" Ethan shook the man.

"Cooperstown," the man said, thick-tongued. Nervously, he licked his dry lips. He was beginning to realize his predicament. Pulling himself upright, he stared blearily at Ethan and then Amelia. If he recognized her, he gave no sign.

"Why?" Ethan demanded harshly.

"Who are you?" Carroll asked in return, suddenly filled with whiskey courage.

"Ethan Cord."

The old man laughed, a demented cackle. " _Her_ brother. She was a trashy slut and you a hired killer. A fine family."

Ethan slammed Carroll back into the chair again. The man's head cracked against the backrest and Ethan's face was only inches from Carroll's. "Why did you come to Paradise?" Ethan said, his voice low and ominous.

"To take them from you."

"Why?" demanded Ethan.

"Because, like her, you're not fit to raise them. Because the price was right."

"What price?" Amelia cut in.

"From an interested third party. I was hired to take them away from you. I don't want the brats. Belong in an orphanage as far as I'm concerned."

"Hired? By who? Who hired you?" Ethan's voice had softened slightly, and Amelia could sense his confusion. This was not what either of them had expected.

Carroll shook his head. "Don't know," he mumbled.

"Who?" Ethan's voice rose again.

"Don't know. Don't care," Carroll answered with equal vehemence. "I never met the man with the money. I talked to his agent. They approached me down in Texas. All I know is someone down there hates you real bad, Cord. He'll hurt you any way he can before he kills ya. Maybe, he just wanted them away from you so he could get you without interference. Or maybe he wanted you to suffer." Carroll broke away from Ethan's grip as his words sunk in. "Guess you'll just have to keep lookin' over your shoulder, gunfighter." Carroll laughed again.

The maniacal cackle of his laughter chilled Amelia to the bone. As she had guessed, Jacob Carroll was truly insane. Lost in alcohol, deserted by his family, he'd struck out against a man he did not know and had hurt innocent children he did not care about. Suddenly, she wished Ethan _would_ end the man's miserable life, then with equal suddenness, she felt guilty for the thought.

Ethan straightened, his rage dampened by the old man's dire words, but in its place was a calm coldness which was just as ominous. "Amelia," he said quietly, "Let's go get the children." Turning, without a backward glance, he walked out of the room.

Amelia paused for a moment, watching Carroll. She thought she saw a moment of regret pass over his face. He closed his eyes as if in pain, but he turned back to the half-empty bottle on the table and grabbed it with a shaking hand.

"Get out of here, woman," he said gruffly. "Someone needs you."

"It didn't have to be this way," Amelia said. "The children might have accepted you. They have little enough family, why take any of it from them?"

"Like I said the price was right. Now go." He turned away with the bottle, dismissing her with a gesture of his hand.

Amelia followed Ethan, leaving the old man alone with his whiskey and his conscience.

~000~


	9. Chapter 9

~000~

"But, Joseph, you can't." Claire grabbed her brother's sleeve and tried to hold him back, but he shook free of her grasp.

"I can, and I will, and I shoulda done it long time ago." Joseph turned toward the door of the church where they'd been given shelter. "You can stay here if you want, and keep hoping Uncle Ethan will rescue you, but I'm not. I shoulda left long ago, when Uncle Ethan came back from New Mexico. I let you stop me then, but I'm not now."

"Joseph, we need you here," Claire protested.

"To do what?" Joseph turned on his sister. "To sit here waiting? For how long? Uncle Ethan isn't coming for us, Claire. He's probably glad we're gone. I sent your telegram to Paradise, and there's been no answer. You can stay in this church like a beggar, but I won't." -

"Where will you go?" Claire followed her brother out of the church, running to keep up with him. "What will you do?"

"It doesn't matter. Anything is better than this. I'll find work somewhere."

"Joseph." Claire was in tears. "Aren't you even going to say good bye to George and Ben?"

"Making me feel guilty will not change my mind, Claire." Joseph stopped long enough to turn towards her. "You have to understand, Claire, it's not you I'm trying to get away from." Joseph paused, struggling with what he wanted to say. "I love you and the boys, but, I don't have any reason to stay in Paradise. There's nothing there. Can't you see that, Claire?"

"You have your family. Uncle Ethan and-"

"A family that's never there, isn't a family, Claire."

The sun was setting, a fiery ball against the darkening shadows of the railroad depot, as Joseph turned away, walking towards the train station at the edge of town. Claire stood in the dusty street and made no further attempt to follow her brother. She watched through tear dimmed eyes until she could no longer see him. Somehow, she would have to explain to Ben and George. She had to make them understand that Uncle Ethan _would_ find them, if they just stayed in one place and waited.

Walking slowly back to the church, Claire had time to dry her eyes. The church was dark now that the sun was down. There was very little oil for the lamp and they had to use it sparingly since they had no money to replace the fuel. They had been fortunate enough to arrive in Cooperstown on a day when the circuit preacher was in town. He was a missionary, travelling over many miles to minister to his flock of small communities. Claire explained to him that they needed a place to wait for their uncle who would be joining them in a few hours. The preacher had believed her and gave his permission for them to wait in the church. And now, Claire worried about what would happen when the preacher's rounds brought him to Cooperstown again and they were still waiting. Would he send them to an orphanage? Perhaps, she reasoned, Joseph was right. She had begun to lose hope, but she dared not let the younger boys see her despair. She had to keep up a cheerful front for their sake.

Stepping through the doorway into the quiet church, Claire went straight to the small basket of food the preacher had left. Little remained, only a hard crust of bread and two tins of beans. She wished she had some eggs, but she would have to do with what she had. She knew Ben and George would be hungry when they returned. At first, they thought the adventure was quite a lark, but she could tell by their increasing silences they were beginning to suspect they had been abandoned. She had lied to them, telling them this was just a temporary stop, that Grandfather Carroll really hadn't meant to desert them, but she hadn't been very convincing. Though they were young, they understood, for some reason, she was afraid of the man who called himself their grandfather.

Claire shuddered and wrapped her shawl around her. Thinking about the long and hideous trip from Paradise made her shake. Arriving at the ranch with Deputy Charlie and a piece of paper saying he was their legal guardian, Jacob Carroll told them they were to go with him. They didn't have time to say good-bye to Mrs. Lawson as he hustled them out of town before they could even protest. He had hardly given them time to pack a few clothes. During the long trip to Reno, he barely spoke to them. After he put them on the train, he said he was going to the dining car, and had vanished. After travelling more than an hour the children finally realized he wasn't on the train. But that knowledge came too late and all they could do was continue on until the train stopped and they could disembark. Through the entire ordeal, Claire hoped someone would see through Jacob Carroll's lies and follow them.

"Claire, Claire!" George's voice could be heard out in the street long before he burst into the church.

"What is it, George?" Claire asked, catching him as he slid to a stop in front of her. Ben entered behind him, short of breath and red-faced from running. "Where have you been all day?"

"At the tr…tr…"

"Train station looking for Uncle Ethan," George finished.

"And?" Claire waited expectantly for an explanation.

"Look." George pulled his hand from behind his back. In it was a shiny red apple, larger than her fist and polished to perfection. "For dinner," he said proudly.

"George, where did you get this?" Claire asked, taking the fruit. "It's almost too beautiful to eat." She looked at her little brothers suspiciously. "You didn't steal it?"

"N...no," he stammered. "Mr. Foxworth at the station, let us work. For a n ••• nickel."

"Work?" Claire asked. "Doing what?"

"He said as long as we were going to be there all day, we could sweep the floor for him," George explained. "So we did and he gave us a nickel. We bought the apple, and have some pennies left." Ben held them out proudly.

"That's good, boys," Claire said, putting the pennies in her pocket. "Now, why don't you go wash your faces and hands, and we can eat this good, red apple with our dinner."

"Where's Joseph?" George asked suddenly as he looked around and realized his oldest brother was not there.

Claire hesitated. "He's gone, George."

"Gone?" Claire could see George's lip begin to quiver.

"Where? Why didn't he say good-bye? When will he be back?"

"Soon," Claire lied, afraid of the truth. "He said he would be back real soon. Now, let's eat."

~000~

Hours later, Claire knelt in the darkness, her head pressed against her folded hands. She had lulled the boys to sleep with stories she told from memory, and now they slept on the hard wooden pews, covered with blankets and free from worry. But she could not sleep. She knew they could not continue to live in the church, but she did not have money enough for them to leave either. Joseph had been right about needing to find work, but where? There was nothing in this town which was smaller than Paradise. It was just the rail station, the boarding house, two saloons and the church. But she knew, even if she had the money to leave, Uncle Ethan might never find them if they left Cooperstown. And travelling alone, they would attract attention which could be disastrous.

She did not move for a long time. The cold slowly crept into her limbs making her stiff, and her mind seemed weighted with worry and dulled by all the emotions she had experienced these past weeks. Her thoughts circled round and round and she could find no solutions. She wanted to cry, but did not even have the strength left for tears. In the distance, a train whistle pierced the lonely stillness of the night. They had listened to the whistles for days, hoping each time the train carried someone who would take them home. Claire covered her ears with her fists so she could not hear the whistle, because she knew it would bring no one and it was foolish of her to dream things would change. Dreams _could_ be dangerous. Still kneeling, she must have dozed off, for she was awakened by the soft touch of a finger gently brushing a lock of hair from the side of her face.

"Seems I always find you in church," a low voice remarked.

Claire scrambled to her feet. "Uncle Ethan!" throwing herself into his strong arms, burying her his vest. "Oh, Uncle Ethan, I knew you'd come!" She began to cry, holding him tightly fearing he was dream.

For a long moment, Ethan did not speak, he just held her. "I came as quickly as I could, Claire." His voice was husky. "Where are the boys?"

Claire swallowed hard. "Ben and George are asleep," she explained in a whisper.

"And Joseph?" Ethan pressed.

Claire didn't know what to say and held her silence until Ethan took her by the shoulders and held her at arm's length. "Where's Joseph?"

"He left. Late this afternoon."

Ethan nodded as though he had expected that answer.

"He didn't say where he was going," Claire continued, "but he kept talking about sneaking onto a freight car on the next train."

"Ethan?"

Claire looked around her uncle to see Mrs. Lawson standing by the door. She hadn't been aware of her presence until now. As she walked over to them, Mrs. Lawson slipped her arm around Claire's waist and Claire was grateful for her closeness. She hoped she would not have to be alone for a long time.

"I'll try and find him," Ethan reassured them, then kissed Claire lightly on the forehead. He paused to make sure Ben and George really were there, then walked out into the night.

~000~

It seemed like days had passed instead of just hours, since Joseph had walked away from Claire at the church. He sat now, on a bench outside the train depot, trying to work up the courage to do what he had set out to do. He had spent most of the evening wandering around the outskirts of town, thinking. Alone in the darkness, his new found independence was not such a bright and shining thing. Hovering near the railroad bed, he had watched as the midnight train approached, took on water and coal, then rolled on out of town. He had not had the courage to steal on board. The opportunity was there. It would have been easy. But he kept seeing Claire's face as she begged him not to go, and he could not do it. Now he sat, silent and alone. He had never been so alone before and he found it strangely frightening not having Claire or the boys or Uncle Ethan to rely on.

He realized this must have been how his mother and Uncle Ethan had felt as children growing up with no parents, no family. They had no one to depend upon, nowhere to go, no food and no money. But they had survived, together, helping each other. He was sitting, thinking, when he sensed someone standing behind him. Without looking around, he spoke with determination, "Don't ask me to come back with you, Uncle Ethan. I'm not going back to Paradise."

Without speaking, Ethan walked around the bench and sank quietly onto the wooden seat beside his nephew. Joseph did not look at his uncle, but he felt his presence as he often did. There was a toughness about Ethan which Joseph would never understand, but tonight, Uncle Ethan seemed different. Joseph had expected an angry outburst. Instead, he sensed a profound tiredness when his uncle finally spoke.

"Didn't come to ask you to go back, Joseph."

"Then what do you want?" Joseph asked. The question came out sounding defensive and temperamental. Joseph was angered by his own voice, which made him sound childish when he so desperately wanted to sound mature.

"I come to ask you to write to your sister."

"Write to Claire?" Joseph repeated, confused.

"Yeah, Joseph. Just write to your sister. Don't forget you have one, or brothers either. "Ethan's voice was filled with regret and Joseph risked a glance at him.

His uncle's hat brim was pulled down low, and in the feeble light from the stationhouse windows Joseph could not make out his expression. His uncle sat slumped on the bench his hands buried deep in his coat pockets. Uncle Ethan's confident strength had always come so naturally. This quiet submission startled Joseph, for though he was often angry at Uncle Ethan, he always respected his strength. To think that strength was somehow weakened by the past month's events, took Joseph by surprise.

Ethan spoke softly, his voice barely a whisper in the night. "I couldn't write to your mother. I thought about her a lot though. About what I owed her, and how I wished I could pay her back. Remember, Joseph, you owe your sister too. Like I owed Lucy."

"How?" Joseph was puzzled by the approach his uncle had taken. He had been prepared to face an angry demanding barrage, but not this gentle request, asking him only to keep in touch with Claire.

"Claire's given up a lot for you and your brothers, Joseph. She gave up being a girl and had to take on adult responsibilities earlier than she should have. I know living in Paradise has been rough on all you children, but I think it's been hardest on Claire."

"Why?" Joseph asked softly.

"Think on it, Joseph. There's been no one her age, no one who shares her love of music, no one for her to talk to in a house full of men. She missed the theater life - and your mother. And she's taken over mothering you and the two small ones. Don't forget her, Joseph." Ethan rose to his feet.

"Is that all?" Joseph looked up at the shadowy figure.

"That's all." Ethan turned and walked down the boarded dock, his boot heels sounding hollowly, blending with the whisper of the wind and the thrumming of crickets in the tall grasses along the tracks.

~000~

Ethan returned to the church alone and quietly entered.

"Did you find him?" Claire asked excitedly when she saw him.

"Yep." Ethan stood in the dusky lit of a single oil lamp. _He looks sad_ _,_ Claire thought _and tired, so tired_. "He wouldn't come back with you?" she asked.

"Didn't ask him to, Claire."

"Why?"

Ethan straightened, then reached out to gently touch her cheek. "He's old enough to decide for himself now," he said. "Older than I was when I lit out on my own."

"You didn't have any family. That was different."

"Not so different."

Amelia entered with a soft rustle of her full skirts, and a smile on her face. "I've gotten rooms for us at the boarding house for the night, and we can still get a cold meal." She stopped, sensing something was till wrong.

Ethan nodded. Stepping around Claire, he bent and gathered George into his arms. The boy was sleeping so soundly, he never stirred. "I'll take George and Claire to the boarding house first and get them settled, then come back for Ben. Will you stay with him, Amelia?"

"That's not necessary, Uncle Ethan. I can carry him."

They all turned at the sound of Joseph's voice. He stood in the doorway of the church, silhouetted against the moonlit night, just a shadow, but he was back. He walked slowly up to Ethan, hat in hand, and spoke quietly, "I don't think I'd be too good at writing letters."

"What do you mean?" Claire asked, looking from her brother to her uncle, confused, yet happy.

"Maybe you won't ever have to find out, Claire," Ethan said, with a small smile as he led them out into the quiet night. Tomorrow, they would all go home - together.

(End)


End file.
